


The Rose and the Thistle

by margaretmaggiewells



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: 1700s, 18th Century, America, Angst, Canon Divergence, Castle Leoch, Character Death, Clans, Craigh na dun, Danger, Death, Diana Gabaldon, England - Freeform, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fair Folk, Fairy, Family, Fanfiction, Fluff, Fraser - Freeform, Freedom, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hate, History, Ireland, JAMMF, Jacobites, Lallybroch, Love, Lovers, Magic, Marriage, Mentions of Rape, NSFW, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Original Fraser Child(ren) (Outlander) - Freeform, Original Male Character(s) - Freeform, Outlander - Freeform, POV Original Female Character, Passion, Romance, Rose - Freeform, Royalty, Sassenach, Scotland, Sex, Sexy, Slow Burn, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Stuart - Freeform, Thistle - Freeform, Time Travel, USA, Violence, Wedding, White Witch - Freeform, Wise Woman - Freeform, Woman of Balnain, friends - Freeform, highlanders - Freeform, highlands, historical fiction - Freeform, husband, mentions of torture, redcoats - Freeform, sex - lots of sex, whisky, whisky - lots of whisky, wife - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28054920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margaretmaggiewells/pseuds/margaretmaggiewells
Summary: What if your future was now the past?A thrilling fanfiction story of a lass from 21st century America, time travelling to 18th century Scotland.All rights of the Outlander books are reserved to the amazing Diana Gabaldon.It is March 2019 and 16 year old student from America, Magdalena Stewart, is on a school trip to Scotland. They are visiting the small town of Inverness and learning all about the Battle of Culloden. But little does she know that she is not of this world... Then on the evening of Ostara, an ancient Celtic festival, Magda visits the standing stones of Craigh na Dun and vanishes into 1743. However, the Scottish Highlands in the 18th century are no safe place for a young lassie all alone. But she has the knowledge and power that the others know not... She finds herself a Sassenach - an outlander - both feared and in danger from both the Jacobites and Redcoats. In the midst of all this danger and violence, the only thing sane and stable in her life is Jamie Fraser, a gallant Scottish warrior. Torn between love and logic, Magda must choose between two irreconcilable paths: either to sacrifice her love and abandon her duty, or stay in the 18th century forever...I hope you enjoy!
Relationships: Jamie Fraser/OFC, Jamie Fraser/Original Female Character(s), Magda Stewart/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 20
Kudos: 55





	1. Introduction

_Hey guys!_

_My story 'The Rose and the Thistle' is a fanfiction based on the Outlander books by the amazing Diana Gabaldon. The main character - Magdalena Stewart - is mine. Feel free to leave praise, criticism or any other ideas on how to improve the story._

_Thank you!_

_Maggie_

***

_Also, here is how I imagine my main characters to look like:_

_I am writing the main character - Magdalena Stewart - as myself. When I fall in love with a book or movie, I always imagine myself being part of it, so that's why I started writing this story. Also, I kinda look like the original main character from Outlander - Claire Beauchamp - so that's cool:)_

***

_Name: Magdalena Eliza Stewart_

_Birthday: 15th of August 2002 (Leo)_

_Appearance: fair skin, golden brown eyes, long brown curly hair_

__

__

_Name: James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser_

_Birthday: 1st of May 1721 (Taurus)_

_Appearance: fair skin, dark blue eyes, wavy copper hair_

__

***

_The chapters will include swearing, violence and sexual content - but don't worry - I'll let you know. I will mainly be writing from Maggie's point of view but I'll also try writing in Jamie's perspective throughout the story. The main and important events in the story line will stay the same with some minor changes until about half the first book of 'Outlander', then some major changes and plots will take place. Also, I will probably read back on some chapters that I already published and I might add or change some things. So if you come across a piece of information that seems unfamiliar to you, it's because I changed or added something in one of the previous chapters, and you can go back and check it:)_

***

_Please make sure to review and vote for my story!_

_Thank you!_

_Maggie_

** I HOPE YOU ENJOY! **


	2. Prologue

_People disappear all the time..._

_Under strange circumstances..._

_Many of the lost will be found - eventually - either dead or alive..._

_Disappearances - after all - have explanations..._

_Usually..._

_Unless it all somehow leads to a small circle of standing stones on a steep green hill..._

_The standing stones of Craigh na Dun..._

_The fairy hill..._

_No one knows the function or the purpose of these stones..._

_Some say the place is enchanted - some say it's cursed..._

_But no one knows for sure..._

_Except me..._

_***_

_Please make sure to review and vote for my story!_

_Thank you!_

_Maggie_

** TO BE CONTINUED... **


	3. Standing Stones

**21st of March 2019, Inverness, Scotland**

Our school trip to Scotland was coming to an end.

After two weeks of constant travelling all around Scotland and visiting: Glasgow, Edinburgh, Loch Ness, Ben Nevis, Stirling Castle, Glencoe Valley, the Isle of Skye and many other cities and lakes and mountains and castles, we were ready to go home to America. We were spending our last day in the small town of Inverness, near where the Battle of Culloden took place. I was very much excited about that, since I have always loved history.

I was actually supposed to be named after Saint Margaret of Scotland. She was an English princess and a Scottish queen and was sometimes called 'The Pearl of Scotland'. Well, the name Margaret, in Scottish Gaelic 'Maighréad', literally means pearl. When I was a baby, my mum would call me her _'precious little pearl',_ but the name Margaret seemed a bit too old-fashioned for her. She first nicknamed me Maggie, then Magdalena was eventually born from that and the name stuck. Coincidentally, I have some distant relatives in Scotland from my grandma's side, hence my name and appearance. We wanted to do a genealogy test a long time ago, but with my grandma being adopted when she was a little girl, it wasn't possible.

We spent the morning at Culloden Moor, wandering about the now empty field, with nothing more than erected headstones to mark the mass graves of the clans there. The MacDonalds, Campbells, MacKenzies, Frasers and countless more clans that fought for what they believed was right. I felt an odd shiver travelling down my spine as I read those names. My ancestors have probably fought and died on this very field, I thought, and now I'm standing where they were burried in their mass graves. I shivered again and pulled my leather jacket tighter around me.

After lunch, we spent the afternoon at the museum of the Battle of Culloden, located near the site of the battle. Well - I don't mean to brag - but of course I knew everything about that. There was general information about the battle itself, about Charles Edward Stuard or as the Scots liked to call him 'Bonnie Prince Charlie', the Duke of Cumberland, the opposing Jacobite and Government armies, and of course the clans themselves.

The next morning, we were supposed to catch a bus to Edinburgh and then get on a plane all the way back to the New York. It was going to be a long nearly eight hour flight and I was looking forward to sleeping throughout the entire journey. Because of the time zone, I knew I was going to be severely jetlagged. I enjoyed our school trip to Scotland very much, but I was also looking froward to seeing my family again. Family and friends, were the most important things in my life.

After my grandma - who I used to call nana when I was small - passed away last year due to cancer, it was very hard for me. I cried when I first found out about her death and then grieved for ages. Nana was a bit strange, but I loved her dearly nonetheless. She was my closest family member, and I felt like she truly understood me. She taught me many important things and we bonded over our love for history. I still remember the last thing she told me: 'Your eyes are not dull brown! When you step into the sun, they are like golden pools of honey, my dear!' Nana's eyes were the very same colour as mine, and even as she battled cancer and her once vibrant auburn hair turned grey, her eyes never lost their spark.

Since it was our last day in Scotland and our teacher, Miss Jackson, gave us free time for the rest of the afternoon, to wander around Inverness, just as long as we stayed in the town. We had a little over two hours, so I went with my best friend, Adelaide. She was my very best friend ever since we were small kids in preschool, throughout primary and now in secondary. We could laugh for hours over stupid things together until our bellies hurt and tears rolled down our cheeks. Adelaide was also really pretty, with large blue eyes and lovely golden hair, though I sometimes teased her about her doll-like appearance. Adelaide was like a sister to me, everything I could ever wish for in a friend. She helped me a lot, to get over the death of my beloved nana and I couldn't have done it without her.

We were getting souvenirs for our families. And after a long time I finally decided. I chose: small emerald earrings set in silver for my mum, a bottle of pure Scotch whisky for my dad, an army knife for my brother and a scarf with a tartan pattern for nana. I knew it was pointless getting her anything, but the least I could do was honour her memory. I also got matching silver necklaces with a Celtic trinity knot pendant for Adelaide and I, as a memory of our visit to Scotland. I didn't really like wearing jewellery, except for earrings, and I only owned one necklace that I was wearing right now. The necklace on my neck consisted of a simple silver chain and a stirling silver thistle pendant with a single gemstone in the middle. Smoky quartz, the national gemstone of Scotland, coincidentally the same colour as my eyes. The silver thistle pendant once belonged to nana and once she passed away, she bequested it into my possession.

Once we had bought all of our souvenirs, we headed to a local pub and ordered food. We both had hot broth and a typical Scotch pie with minced mutton. We even thought about ordering haggis, but the thought of eating the stomach of a sheep made us both cringe. _What a pig,_ I thought and gagged internally, when I saw a man few tables over stuffing his face with it.

Then out of nowhere, a young male server approached us with two Scotches on the rocks.

"Oh no, we didn't order this!" I smiled apologetically.

I felt Adelaide kick me under the table, as if telling me to accept the drinks.

"Och, dinna fash lass!" said the server with a smile. "They're on the house. Quite suitable for a lassie with eyes the colour of well-aged whisky, ye ken!"

I grinned broadly. "I thank ye kindly, sir!" I said, doing a horrible immitation of a Scottish accent.

"Yer verra welcome lass!" laughed the server. "Hmm, ye both look underage though, dinna tell anyone, it can be our wee secret!" 

And with that he smiled at me again and left with a wink.

Me and Adelalaide looked at eachother, and tried to hold in our laughter.

"Well that was weird!" I giggled childishly.

"Yeah true!" she raised her eyebrows at me and made a kissy face. "But oh, how poetic was it? Eyes the colour of well-aged whisky?"

"Oh, piss off!"

We both chuckled.

"Well then take the first sip, you lass with the amber eyes!" grinned Adelaide.

"I said go fuck yourself!" I smirked back and took a sip anyway.

I had drunk whisky before - well - stolen it from my dad. But Scotch on the rocks was something different. As I took the first sip, I savoured every drop of it. It was sweet rich and warm and the golden liquid slid down my throat easily. The tastes were balanced, a lovely blend of woody and smoky and a tiny hint of cinnamon. I was expecting for my mouth to burn as if on fire, but all I got was a pleasant mild tingling sensation.

I took another sip and then I decided to put on a show.

"Mmm..." I moaned as I closed my eyes and ran my tongue across my lips. "It's delicious!"

"Ok, ok Mags!" grinned Adelaide whilst rolling her eyes. "Just try not to orgasm!"

I opened my eyes and gasped in pretend shock, smacking her on her arm.

"Well, it is a bit like an orgasm in your mouth..." I admitted with a smirk.

"No shit!" she breathed out and we both snorted with laughter again

Just then, I heard a very familiar tune being sung:

_"Well a Scotsman clad in kilt left a bar one evening fair,_

_And one could tell by how he walked that he'd drunk more than his share._

_He fumbled round until he could no longer keep his feet,_

_Then he stumbled off into the grass to sleep beside the street._

_Ring ding diddle iddle I de oh, ring di diddly I oh,_

_He stumbled off into the grass to sleep beside the street."_

Many people had clapping in tune and the pub's band soon joined in with their music. I started singing as well, as I knew the lyrics so well.

_"About that time two young and lovely girls just happened by,_

_And one says to the other with a twinkle in her eye._

_See yon sleeping Scotsman so strong and handsome built,_

_I wonder if it's true what they don't wear beneath the kilt._

_Ring ding diddle iddle I de oh, ring di diddly I oh,_

_I wonder if it's true what they don't wear beneath the kilt."_

The crowd roared with laughter, cheering on, and Adelaide gave me a little side eye smirk. _Cheeky bastard,_ I thought.

_"They crept up on that sleeping Scotsman quiet as could be,_

_Lifted up his kilt about an inch so they could see._

_And there behold, for them to view, beneath his Scottish skirt,_

_Was nothing more than God had graced him with upon his birth._

_Ring ding diddle iddle I de oh, ring di diddly I oh,_

_Was nothing more than God had graced him with upon his birth._

_They marveled for a moment, then one said we must be gone,_

_Let's leave a present for our friend, before we move along._

_As a gift they left a blue silk ribbon, tied into a bow,_

_Around the bonnie star, the Scot's kilt did lift and show._

_Ring ding diddle iddle I de oh, ring di diddly I oh,_

_Around the bonnie star, the Scots kilt did lift and show._

_Now the Scotsman woke to nature's call and stumbled toward the trees,_

_Behind a bush, he lifts his kilt and gasps at what he sees._

_And in a startled voice he says to what's before his eyes,_

_O lad, I don't know where you been, but I see you won first prize._

_Ring ding diddle iddle I de oh, ring di diddly I oh,_

_O lad, I don't know where you been, but I see you won first prize."_

When the singing finished, the crowd went wild, me and Adelaide most of all. We all clapped and cheered and whooped. 

"To freedom and whisky!" I cried dramatically, sipping on my drink.

"Spoken like a true Scot!" grinned Adelaide, as we clinked glasses and swallowed the _'Water of Life'._

"Mmm, the whisky's really good!" I mused aloud and downed the rest of my drink. "I wonder what it's called..."

"Let's ask the waiter!" Adelaide slurred slightly, already waving the waiter over.

"Is there a problem, ladies?" he asked, his brow creased slightly with worry.

"No, not at all!" I assured him with a smile. "We were just wondering what the whisky is called - it's really good you see!"

The waiter grinned in relief. "I'm verra glad ye enjoy it. The whisky is actually called _'Sassenach'._ It's a family tradition, ye ken, the Frasers started making their own whisky in the mid 18th century, just after the Battle of Culloden."

As we left the pub, slightly tipsy, we realised we still had about an hour of free time.

"Uhh, I'm _bored!_ " groaned Adelaide. "There's nothing to do here!"

"Oh, I know!" I cried suddenly. "We could go and visit Craigh na Dun!"

"The what?"

"Craigh na Dun!" I said with enthusiasm. "It's a cricle of standing stones and according to local folklore, these stones were carried here from Africa by a race of Celtic giants."

"Well, you know your history, I'll give you that." grumbled Adelaide.

"Oh please Ada!" I reasoned. "It's truly _amazing!_ And today is Ostara - the pagan festival of the Spring Equinox - we can't miss it!"

"Uhh, for fuck's sake, fine!" she said and rolled her eyes. "Where are these stones anyway?"

"You see that hill over there?" I asked, pointing to a nearby hill.

Adelaide nodded.

"That's it!"

"Umm, Mags, it's quite far. And besides, we're supposed to stay in Inverness."

"Oh come on Ada, don't be such a spoilsport!" I pleaded again. "Besides, it's said that on the night marking any seasonal festival, apparently witches - well, not actually witches - but a local group still practise ancient rituals during these festivals. These are Wicca traditions - a form of Neopaganism."

"Ok, ok, let's go then! But if anything happens and the teacher is mad at us, it's your fault, ok?"

"Fine!" I grinned from ear to ear.

As we made our way to the hill, the sun was coming down. The weather was cold for late March and I dug my hands deeper into the pockets of my leather jacket. It was a steep path, but we panted up the hill nonetheless. We stumbled up the hill, tripping over roots and stubbing our toes on the stones. Finally, now hot and sweaty, we reached the top, but we were not prepared for the sight that greeted us.

"It's _gorgeous!_ " I breathed. Adelaide only nodded in response, enchanted by the sight as much as I was. We crept silently to a bush and crouched behind it, hoping to remain hidden.

The view was truly _beautiful_ up there, probably the most magnificent spectacle I had ever seen. The heavens had a golden glow slightly from the fiery red sun that blazed low in the sky, and the clouds, I could not find words to describe their beauty. Splashed with red and tinted with violet, they sailed over my head.

But what was truly amazing were the Druids: women of all ages and sizes, their hair loose and wild cascading down their backs with spring flowers resembling the shape of a crown adorning the tops of their heads, bare-footed and all dressed in a sort of white bedsheet resembling a tunic and they carried lanterns with them. They stood in the middle of a stone circle, the largest middle stone illuminated by the fire that blazed at it's foot, and were humming something softly under their breaths. And as the sun went down, the humming turned into a rythmic chanting in a language that I didn't understand nor recognize. _Not Scottish Gaelic,_ I thought, for I somewhat understood the language of my ancestors, _but a tongue long dead._ In sync, the started singing in the same language and dancing slowly with outstretched arms around the middle stone.

"Holy fuck..."

They should have been ridiculous, and perhaps they were. Parading though gracefully on top of a hill, dressed in bedsheets. It was strange and beautiful at the same time, but I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck prickling at the sight, with both excitement and fear. And some small voice inside my head warned me, I wasn't supposed to be here. I was an unwelcome guest, a witness to something ancient and powerful...

"Is that..." whispered Adelaide suddenly.

"Yes - Mrs Graham." I confirmed with a grin and we both had to turn away as to not burst into a fit of giggles. Mrs Graham was the owner of the inn they were staying at. She was short and tubby, and to see a grey-haired women in her early sixties dancing with only a bedsheet wrapped around her body was truly a sight to behold.

As suddenly as they began with their ritual, they also ended, once the sun went fully down over the horizon. One by one, the women disappeared into the mist and down the hill, leaving Adelaide and I alone again.

Making sure they were truly gone, I then took out my phone and took a picture of the Craigh na Dun, capturing the eerie beauty for ever. Adelaide and I also took a selfie of us standing in the middle of the stone circle, before I put my phone away inside my backpack.

The circle of the standing stones was smaller than Stonehenge, but still more than twice my own height and massive in proportion. All of them were remarkably different from eachother. The tallest stone of the circle was cleft, with a vertical split dividing the two massive pieces. Oddly, the pieces had been drawn appart by some means. Though you could see that the facing surfaces matched, they were seperated by a gap of few feet.

"There are some rumours about this place, you know." I said, turning to Adelaide.

"Hmm? Such as?" she questioned, raising one brow at me.

"They say it's... haunted!" I whispered dramatically. "And Nana used to tell me stories about this place, full of magic and fairies."

Adelaide giggled. "Yeah right! Trust you to believe in old wive's tales, Mags!"

"No really, it's true!" I insist. "The locals swear that the stones contain ancient magic, a power beyond our understanding. Coincidentally, many people have also gone missing here. The last case was recorded in 1971 about two women, Eliza Fraser and Gillian Edgars. No one ever saw them again, neither dead nor alive."

"Trust you to know everything about that, little miss history!" said Adelaide grumpily and folded her arms.

And with that we went back to exploring the standing stones.

I felt a strange chill running down my back, and I shivered involuntarily yet again. It was cold and misty, even though it was late March and it wasn't quite night yet. I pulled my leather jacket closer to my body nevertheless.

The moon had come out from behind the clouds and I could feel the wind rising around me. There was a deep humming noise coming from somewhere near, but I couldn't figure out where. I looked around. A deep hum like a hive of bees in the sun. It left me feeling unsettled and conscious of the pit of nervousness growing in my stomach.

"Can you hear that?" I whispered.

"Hear what?" asked Adelaide, peacefully oblivious.

"The humming." I said.

"No, I can't." she answered.

Some imaginary force was pulling me into the stone circle, and I had no fight in me to resist against it. My feet seemed to move on their own accord, as I stepped closer towards the middle stone. It seemed that the noise was coming from there. The same strange force made me place both hands upon the stone and I reluctantly pressed my ear up against it.

_The stone screamed._

Adelaide was still in blissful unawareness.

I backed away as fast as I could, moving so quickly that I tripped over and fell down.

I stared at the stone in horror.

"Mags!" cried Adelaide, now obviously worried. "What's wrong? Are you ok?" she asked frantically.

I didn't answer.

I had never heard such a sound from anything living. There was no way to describe it. It was _horrible_.

If that wasn't bad enough, the other stones began to shout. It was a noise of the battle, and the sound of dying men and shattered horses.

"Mags!" pleaded Adelaide again. "Let's go! Let's go back!"

Once again I remained silent, for the truth was that I couldn't hear her. But even if I did, I probably wouldn't have answered from the shock.

I shook my head violently to try to clear it, but the noise went on. The sounds were all around me, making my stomach sick and my head ache. My vision began to blur as white spots danced in front of my eyes.

I heard the distant shout of my name from afar.

Then everything went black...

***

_Please make sure to review and vote for my story!_

_Thank you!_

_Maggie_

** TO BE CONTINUED... **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this is my first chapter of 'Outlander', yay! How do you think I did? I'll try to write as much as possible and post new chapters regularly even with school, tutoring, sports and such. I hope you enjoy reading my story as much as I love writing it! P.S. The song that Maggie sings is called 'The Scotsman' by Sean Kennedy. I really like this song because it has a catchy tune and the lyrics are funny and clever - the first time I heard it I was howling with laughter at the witty song. It's sometimes called 'The drunk Scotsman', but I think that's redundant, as all Scotsmen are stereotypically drunk:) P.P.S. The 'Sassenach' whisky is obviously inspired by Sam Heughan, you'll see why in later chapters:)


	4. Mysterious Disappearance

**22nd** **of** **March** **1743, Craigh na Dun, Scotland**

Once, travelling at night, I fell asleep in the back seat of a moving car, lulled by the noise and motion into a serene slumber. We were on the motorway, and my dad took a turn too fast and lost control. We crashed into several cars infront of us. I woke up from my floating dream straight into the glare of headlights and the sickening sensation of falling at high speed.

My vision contracted to a single dark spot, I felt as of I was falling and spinning at the same time. But the truth is that nothing moved, nothing changed, nothing appeared to happen and yet I still experienced a feeling of elemental terror so great, that I lost all sense of who or what or where I was. I was in the heart of chaos and no power of mind or body was of any use against it.

I can't really say I lost consciousness, but I was certainly not aware of myself for some time. I woke - if that's the right word - laying down on the cold hard ground with the dark night sky above me as I opened my eyes. I slowly sat up, feeling weak and dizzy. My head hurt and my heart was pounding so wildly in my chest, that I was afraid it was going to leap out. I half stumbled and half crawled on my feet, my head spinning violently. I leaned against a rock to stable myself. Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit me and I was sick in the damp grass beside me.

Once I was done retching, I wiped my mouth and looked around. It was dark but the stars were present as was the moon, casting an eerie glow all around me. _That's_ _strange,_ I thought, _I just_ _saw_ _the sunset just a while ago._ I looked around. Everything seemed the same yet so different and I couldn't place my finger on what it was. All I knew was that something felt strange. It was cold and chilly so I pulled my leather jacket further around me. I then noticed my backpack lying on the ground next to me. I quickly checked it but nothing seemed to be missing, and my phone was still in one of the pockets.

I hastily recalled the events of the past few hours: the last day in Scotland, shopping in Inverness, the meal at the pub, the karaoke, the standing stones of Craigh na Dun, me and my best friend Adelaide...

_Adelaide!_

"Ada?" I said in a voice that was barely a whisper. "Ada!" I said, now loud and clear.

"Ada!" I screamed hysterically with a hoarse voice, looking all around me, but to no avail.

_But still - nothing..._

Even as I frantically searched for her, calling her name out over and over again, she was nowhere in sight. Many different scenarios were running through my mind, every scenario more unlikely than the one before that. Was she kidnapped - or worse - _killed?_

It was as if she disappeared, vanished without a trace.

Suddenly, I heard loud shouting nearby, which reminded me of the sounds I heard - and felt too - in the stone circle. I turned towards it. The men were some distance away when I saw them. A couple of them, dresses in kilts, running like crazy across a small grassy field. There was a far off banging noise, that I rather hazedly identified as gunshots. The sound of shots was shortly followed by at least half a dozen men dressed in red coats, waving muskets.

I stared in silence. _What the fuck?_ Then I blinked rapidly and rubbed my eyes vigorously. _I'm_ _hallucinating_ , I thought. I must have hit my head harder than I thought.

Was this some kind of a sick joke? But then it all came to me, as the battle progressed. _Of course_ - _a film!_ Why didn't I think of that before? It was obviously some historical drama set in the 18th century.

Suddenly, one of the red coats noticed me. I barely had any time to move, let alone to run and hide before he fired his musket at me. I quickly dodged out of the way and tumbled down the hill, ripping my light washed denim jeans and scraping my knees in the process. The bullet aimed at me hit a tree.

I thought it was strange, using real weapons in a historical drama. It must have been a mistake.

Then the second shot was fired and missed me by a few inches.

I didn't wait. Grabbing my backpack, I scrambled back up on my feet and ran, my black Converse trainers slipping on mud and leaf mould.

As I was making my way through the woods, a hand shot out of nowhere and gripped me by the arm.

Then for one foolish moment, I thought it might actually be my friend, playing a prank on me.

"Ada!" I exclaimed stupidly.

Then I turned to look at my captor.

"You're not Adelaide."

"No madam, I am not." my captor agreed.

I started to shout in alarm but his other hand clapped over my mouth to silence my scream for help and I was dragged towards a grove, thrashing wildly in panic. My captor, whoever he was, seemed much taller than I, with very strong arms. I smelled a spicy scent, perhaps cologne, mingled with the unmistakable reek of male sweat that the cologne was probably meant to disguise.

Momentarily, his grip seemed to loosen, so I took my chance. I bit his hand and stomped on his foot as hard I could. He jerked away and that was all I needed to free myself out of his grasp.

I broke and ran again.

I fled blindly. I didn't know where I was going, I only knew I had to escape. Tree branches scratched my face and arms, tall grass and nettles stung my legs and my ankles twisted as I stepped in holes and stumbled on rocks. I cried out in pain. My ankle crunched slightly beneath me and throbbed in pain, but I kept on running. I was relieved of my leather jacket by a snaggling branch, but still I ran. I had no room in my mind for any form of rational thought. I just wanted to get away.

A heavy weight struck me hard in the back and I was tackled to the ground in the process. I landed with a dull thud that knocked the wind out of me. I struggled violently, but to no avail - I was stuck. Rough hands flipped me over and I was staring right into the wide hazel eyes of my captor, filled with amusement.

I scrambled back up quickly and tried to run but he blocked my way. He backed me up a few steps until I was brought up sharp by bumping into a tree. I pressed myself up against the bark of the tree and found it oddly reassuring.

"Who are you?" I asked. The question came out of my mouth like a frightened croak.

"Who am I?" he inquired with a sneer. "I may ask you the same question madam."

My captor was now studying me with an intense gaze and I got the chance to finally look at him properly. He had a chiselled face, with straight brows and wide hazel eyes which were now examining my clothes with unhindered interest. He had tanned skin and his dark hair was long and tied back from his face with a leather band. I gasped. He was wearing a long tailed and deep scarlett coat. It was a dragoon's coat - an officer's coat. If I didn't recognise his nationality by his accent before, now I knew for certain that he was English. Then it occured to me. _Of course - he was an actor!_ Although the sword he carried seemed remarkably more realistic than any movie prop I had ever seen. 

"I'm asking again, who the fuck are you?" I demanded again, my voice no longer afraid and quiet but loud and clear.

He was circling me like a predator, wondering whether it was worth the effort of pouncing on his prey - me. I was starting to get more and more annoyed, but he only smirked at me, continuing to eye me like a piece of fresh meat.

"I am, madam, Jonathan Wolverton Randall, Esquire, Captain of His Majesty's Eighth Dragoons. At your service, madam."

He mock bowed to me, hand over his heart.

I gasped again. _What the fuck?_ I knew immediately who that was of course: also know as 'Black Jack Randall', he was a millitary officer who lived in the 18th century. But for fuck's sake, why was this actor claiming to be him?

"And may I ask who you are madam?" he inquired again.

I panicked. _Shit!_ Should I use my real name?

"I'm Magdalena..." I said, pausing momentarily. "Magdalena Thompson." I decided to use my mum's maiden name.

"Well then, Mistress Magdalena Thompson, you must think me the fool." he said, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I advise you to tell me exactly who you are!"

I made a move to run again, but he clutched my arm tightly. "Madam, you will soon find that my patience is not infinate!" he growled.

"Let go off me, you bastard!" 

"Tell me first, what is a young _lady_ such as yourself doing here, travelling all alone in the Scottish Highlands?" He put great emphasis on the word lady and I shivered in disgust.

"I don't see how that's any bussiness of yours." I said boldly, lifting my chin up a fraction.

"Oh, believe me, madam, it is."

I clenched my fists. "I'll thank you to let me pass at once!" I said through gritted teeth, now beyond angry.

"Not until you answer my questions, madam."

"What do you want from me?" I cried. "Leave me alone!"

"I wonder, madam," he sneered, "why should a _whore_ be dressed in mens clothes? And quite fancy ones if I may add." I was shaking with anger.

"A _what?_ " I exclaimed in disbelief. "You mean a prostitute?"

My blood was boiling with fury and rage. _How dare he?_

He continued to examine me once more in detail.

Then he stepped forward and gripped my face in his hands. I could smell his horrible breath, probably caused by rotten teeth, hot on my face, that was making my eyes water and tried to hold my own breath.

"Let go off me!" I cried.

"The skin of a lady, I swear." he murmured to himself. He leaned forward and sniffed. "And an expensive scent in your hair."

"Let me go-"

Suddenly, Randall ducked his head and kissed me, cutting me short. I gasped and he took hold of the opportunity and thrust his tongue into my mouth. I could taste the foul and putrid taste of him and as his tongue explored my mouth, I had to fight the sudden urge to vomit.

All of a sudden, his grip loosened slightly. Remembering my selfe-defense classes, I bit his tongue and he recoiled, so I kneed him in the groin as hard as I could. He groaned in pain and let go of me.

I tried to flee again, but before I ran more than three steps, I felt a steel like grip on my arm instead, his sword drawn and its' blade pressed against my neck. I could feel the sharp edge of the cold metal blade scraping against my throat.

"Let me go you - you - you fucking son of a bitch!" I yelled.

Then I spat in his face, immediately regreting it.

Randall wiped the spittle off of his face slowly. His face hard and unreadable, his hazel eyes now filled with anger were glaring daggers at me and his mouth was set in a straight line.

"Speach of a lady, language of a whore!" he growled dangerously, twisting my arm behind my back painfully and turning me around.

Randall proceeded to try and open my jeans, but got stuck on the zipper. He cursed under his breath. I mentally thanked God or any other deity who was willing to listen for making me wear jeans today. I don't know why, but I started laughing - perhaps out of fear and nervousness - at his inability to open my zipper. This seemed to anger him even more and he gripped my hair painfully as his hand connected with my face. I cried out in pain and my eyes watered, though it had not hurt that much. I could feel the blood trickling from my nose and identified it's warm coppery taste in my mouth.

His patience with me now long gone, he proceeded to use the blade of the sword to slice throught my black Queen shirt so that my red lacy bra was visible to him, my breasts straining against the remaining fabric. I tried kicking his legs repeatedly, but he lunged at me again and grabbed my neck, squeezing strongly. I was slowly losing consciousness and white spots danced in front of my eyes, threatening to succumb myself to darkness.

Suddenly, as I tried to scream for help yet again, there was a whoosh from above followed by a dull thud. As my vision recovered, I gasped once again. Randall was on the ground at my feet with what looked like a mass of old tartan rags above him. A fist rose out of the mass on the ground and descended down with considerable force, with the sound of a loud crack. Black Jack's struggling legs, shiny in tall brown boots, relaxed. I took the oppurtunity to lean heavily against a tree to steady myself and even out my breathing.

I then found myself staring into a pair of sharp black eyes.

"And who the fuck are you?" I exclaimed in astonishment.

"Quick, come with me!" he said, holding out his hand to me. I took his hand and obediently followed him, limping with my bad leg.

"This way!" he said and dragged me along with him behind a tree.

I realised we were hiding from the redcoats, and I took the time to examine my saviour. My rescuer - if I could call him that - was not much taller that I. He had a pock-marked skin and appart from his dark eyes framed by bushy brows he also had black hair and a thick beard. A Scotsman - a highlander - I thought, as I eyed his ragged shirt and kilt. _Well, this certainly isn't my ideal Prince Charming,_ I thought.

With the redcoats now gone, he tugged me through a forest until we reached a stream. I sank down on the ground and drank, the cool water slipping down my throat easily. I also used the water to clean my face, neck and chest area from most of the dirt and blood, not caring that I was smudging my mascara in the process.

I couldn't determine if I was shaking from the cold or from fear - perhaps both. And I didn't even realise I was shivering until a plaid was thrown around my shoulders to cover my bare skin and exposed chest. My rescuer stood next to me, offering me a flask.

I took it gratefully and took a big gulp - but what I didn't know was that it was pure whisky. I was not expecting the taste and it burnt the back of my throat and my entire mouth, as I sputtered and coughed. My rescuer thumped me on the back.

"Are ye alright lass?" he asked.

I didn't know if he was reffering to my current state of pain and undress or the fact that I nearly choked to death on whisky.

"I... I think so..." I whispered, still shaking, my voice sounding like a hoarse croak. "Thank you..."

"Tis alright lass, yer safe now!" he said.

Those words made me shiver again involuntarily. My eyes welled up with tears and my lower lip started trembling, but I willed myself not to cry - at least not now and here anyway. I bit my lower lip hard to stop myself from crying. It wasn't because I was nearly raped by Randall - well perhaps it was a bit - but because I knew I was very a long way from home. It was not my friend Adelaide who had disappeared without a trace - _it was me!_ I now knew that something was wrong: it was as if I was missing an arm and I didn't notice, until someone blatantly pointed it out.

In a haze, I recalled the lullaby nana used to sing to me when I was a little girl. It was in Scottish Gaelic and though I hardly remembered the melody, I had fair memory of the lyrics. _Bean Tighearna Bhail' 'n Athain - The Woman of Balnain._ And the fairy stories my grandma told me where true then... And the two missing women from the 70's and probably countless other people, they also travelled through the stones, there was no doubt about that...

Every rational thought in my mind screamed that it could not be true, but deep down, I knew that I was no longer in the 21st century...

***

_Please make sure to review and vote for my story!_

_Thank you!_

_Maggie_

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	5. Sassenach

** 22nd of ** **March** **1743, Highlands, Scotland **

After I had somewhat recovered from my initial shock, my rescuer offered me a hand and we stood up, walking to a nearby grove where his horse was apparently waiting. He helped me up and seated himself behind me. I was too cold and tired to protest, let alone ask where we were going. I just pulled the plaid more tightly around me.

After riding for who knows how long, my eyes adjusted to the dark. I was glad when we finally came to a halt infront of a small cottage. It was made of stone and looked quite old, vines crawling up the walls told me the cottage was most probably abandoned. My rescuer helped down of the horse. It was dark outside but once we stepped inside the cottage, I was blinded by a blaze of light. I blinked rapidly and squinted my eyes. I could now clearly see that in fact the room was was only lit by a small fire, with at least half a dozen figures seated around it.

In the corner sat another single figure, a young man large in stature and probably injured, by the way he was clutching his shoulder. He looked up for a moment and our eyes met, a shade of intense blue. I felt my breath hitch slightly and heat spreading across my face, so I broke eye contact first and kept my head down.

"What is it ye have here Murtagh, eh?"

My rescuer - now identified as Murtagh - grabbed me by the arm and urged me forward, pushing me rather roughly into the firelight. I staggered forward with a limp.

"A Sassenach wench, by her speech."

The figures seated around the fire turned out to be several men, all staring at me, some with curiousity and some with unhindered interest. I knew I must have looked a _mess_ : my eyes bloodshot and smudged black with mascara, my face bruised and bloodied and my curly hair a tangled mess. My shoes were muddy, my jeans ripped and dirty and my black Queen shirt - or the remains of it - were hanging on my body limply. Looking down, I could see the bare curve of my breast, my red lacy bra on full display. I decided that making an attempt and drawing the plaid around my exposed chest and torso would only draw further attention to the prospect. I knew I looked like a woman of loose morals to them. I felt the heat rising to my cheeks. It was as I had appeared in public naked! I could hear them laughing at my expense.

"Eh, a bonnie lass, Sassenach or no'! Dinna ye agree, Angus?" said one fat man with greasy hair, rising up and coming over to me.

"Och, I certainly do, Rupert!" said another with a lewd grin, exposing his lack of teeth in the proccess and I had to stop breathing for a moment, for he smelled horrible.

He pushed my chin up with his hand and shoved the hair out of my face. The other men gathered close around me, smelling strongly of sweat and alcohol. I tried my best not gag. They were all touching me, examining my clothes and murmuring quietely among themselves in which I knew was obviously Scottish Gaelic. I was feeling extremely self conscious. My cheeks were flushing with anger and embarassment.

"Oi, look at this!" exclaimed Rupert, one of the men gathered around me. With his meaty hand he brushed my hair behind my ear and pointed at it. "Have ye ever seen a lady with two holes in each ear, eh?"

I realised he was reffering to my newly pierced ears. My ears were first pierced when I was a baby, but a year ago, I got another two holes in each ear. A simple pearl and a diamond stud. I silently thanked God that I didn't get my nose pierced aswell, as I would have a harder time explaining why I have an earring in my nose. I just prayed that he wouldn't discover my helix piercing aswell, adorning the upper part of my ear.

I slapped the man's hands away from my ear fiercely and glared daggers at him.

"Get your hands off of me!" I growled dangerously. The men laughed.

"Lets have a look at you then, lass."

The crown parted to reveal me to a tall man with dark hair and beard, still seated at the table. He had an air of command around him, and I realised that he must be the leader. He beckoned me over to him. I limped slowly towards him, wincing slightly in pain as I put pressure on my bad leg.

"I belive you can see me now!" I said, irony dripping from my words. I could hear brief snorting behind me and turned around for a moment only to see the injured man smiling slightly through his pain.

"What's yer name, lass?" he asked, his voice low and gruff.

"Magdalena Thompson." I decided to stick with my mum's maiden name. "And who are you?"

"Dougal MacKenzie, War Chieftain of Clan MacKenzie." he introduced himself with a smirk. "So yer a Sassenach then, lass?" he raised a brow at me with a sneer curling at his lip.

I bit back another snarky comment at the tip of my tongue. "No, I'm not. I'm from America."

"Ye mean the colonies? Ye have a strange accent."

"Yes, well, both my parents are from Britain, but I was born and raised in America."

"How old are ye?"

"I'm sixteen."

He nodded towards me, then turned back to Murtagh. "Where did ye find her?"

Murtagh shrugged. "At the foot of Craigh na Dun, Dougal. She was exchangin' words wi' a certain captain of dragoons wi' whom we're aquainted with." Murtagh paused to look at me. "There seemed to be some question as to whether the lady was or was not a whore _._ " he added, holding up my backpack. I was relieved that I had something from my own time at least, appart from my dirty and ripped clothes hanging limply from my body. However to my dismay, my beautiful leather jacket was lost. I could only hope my phone was still in one of the pockets...

Dougal looked me over carefully once more, taking in my dirty jeans and ripped shirt, obviously suspicious.

"I see." he said with a sneer, looking me over. "And what was the _lady's_ possition in this discussion?" he turned to Murtagh once again. He put special emphasis on the word lady, just as Randall had done before, and I was once again disgusted.

My cheeks were burning from shame. _Do I look like a whore to you?_ I wanted to scream.

"I am not a whore!" I said vehemently instead, lifting my chin up a fraction, mustering up the rest of dignity that I had left.

"We could put it to the test!" offered Rupert eagerly, thrusting his hips in my direction, and that set off a round of laughter. Angus waggled his tongue in my direction and I could clearly guess what bawdy thoughts were going on inside his head. I was glad that the only makeup I was wearing today was mascara and not lipstick, which would have been very questionable in this time.

"Don't you dare come any closer to me!" I threatened, backing off into a corner, setting off another round of laughter.

"That will be enough, Rupert!" Dougal's voice held the ring of authority and the laughter ceased. I was glad, though I still couldn't escape the men's open leering.

"Nay Dougal, I've no idea who - or what she might be, but I'd stake my best shirt she's no whore!" said Murtagh in my defense. I mentally thanked him.

"And what is a young _lady_ such as yerself doing, travelling all alone in the woods, disguised as a man?" Dougal lifted his brow yet again and I could see a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip.

I gritted my teeth. _Shit!_ I needed to make up a story - _fast!_ "I was travelling from the colonies, from New York to be specific, with my companion. You see, I wanted to visit some of my relatives here. But we were attacked by robbers on the road near Inverness and I believe I am the only one that got away. As I was making my way through the woods to find help, that's when I came upon Randall. "

"That still doesna explain why you are wearing men's clothes."

 _Shit again!_ "I thought it would be better to travel in disguise, as it is not safe for a young woman to travel alone here. Plus pants are more practical than a skirt."

He nodded again, though still obviously suspicious.

"We canna leave ye here, so ye're coming with us whether ye like it or no'!"

Before I could say anothet thing, Dougal and the other men's attention had shifted to the young man crouched on a stool in the corner near the fire with a plaid thrown over him. I noticed him as soon as I came in, but he barely looked up throughout my appearance and interrogation. The man was tall and large compared to the stool he sat on. He was clutching his shoulder with the opposite hand and rocking back and forth slightly, the pain evident on his face.

Dougal went over to him and gently pushed the young man's hand away and pulled back his plaid. I gasped. It revealed a dirt-smeared linen shirt botched with blood, ripped from the shoulder down the sleeve. The shoulder had been injured: there was a deep ragged wound across the top and blood was running freely down the man's arm. But more shocking was the shoulder joint itself. It was dislocated and the arm hung limply at the side in an impossible angle. _It must be causing the poor man extreme pain_ , I thought.

"Out o' joint, poor bugger!" grunted Dougal. I rolled my eyes - as if it weren't _obvious!_

The young man looked up for the first time. "Fell wi' my hand out, when the musket ball knocked me off my saddle. I landed with all my weight on the hand and _crunch!_ , there it went!" His voice was surprisingly pleasant and mellow, and not as deep as I would expect for a man of his size and stature.

"Crunch is right!" grumbled Angus. "The wound's no trouble: the bullet went right through and it's clean - the blood's runnin' free enough." He picked up a bit of grubby cloth and dabbed at the wound, though the cloth was soon stained. "I dinna ken about the disjointure though, someone needs to set it back properly. Ye canna ride with it that way, can ye, Jamie lad?"

The young man shook his head, sweaty and white-faced. "It hurt's bad enough sittin' still. I couldna manage a horse."

"Dinna fash yerself!" grumbled Angus again. "We're gonna have to force the joint back!"

The young man nodded. Someone offered his a leather flask and pressed it to his lips. The burning reek of the raw spirit reached me where I stood. Murtagh and Dougal held him up as Angus took hold of his arm and wrist and began forcing it upwards. The man's face was twisted with pain. _What the fuck were they doing?_ I thought. The angle was wrong, they could easily break his arm that way! It must be causing him excruciating pain...

"Stop!" I cried. All the men looked at me, some in surprise and some with annoyance. "Don't you dare do that!" I limped forward.

"What do ye mean?" snapped Angus, scowling at me in irritation.

"I mean that you will break his arm that way - you need to get into the correct position first!"

"And what would ye ken about that?" he snapped again.

"My mother's a doctor - umm - I mean a healer!" I snapped back. It was true - my mum is a pediatrician, whereas my dad is a cardiologist. Even though I was underage and not qualified, I thought I had quite a lot of knowledge in the medical field. "Now stand aside and let me get on with the job, please!"

"Let her, Angus!" said Dougal, nodding towards me.

Without further protest, Angus stood back, mumbling in Gaelic under his breath. I stepped towards my patient, lightly touching his injured shoulder to asses the damage. As soon as I made contact with his skin, I saw black and a sharp pain shot through my right temple.

A booming voice in my head bellowed: _A skirmish. Grassy field. Highlanders against redcoats. A musket. A shot fired. Clean exit. Falling off a horse. Dislocated shoulder. No fever. No infection._

I retreated in alarm, feeling slightly dizzy.

"Get on wi' it, woman, we dinna have all day!" commanded Dougal, extracting me from my thoughts.

"Right of course..." I said, taking hold of the shoulder again. "Jamie, is it?" I asked. Jamie nodded. "I need you to stay calm for me and take a deep breath!"

He was as startled as the others by my actions, but complied and didn't resist. He also took another drought of whisky, to numb the pain. Even in the dim light of the fire, I could clearly see his face: he had tousled wavy copper hair, a few days worth of ruddy stubble adorned his cheeks and he had the most beautiful deep blue eyes I had ever seen - I could feel myself drowning in them. Though he had blood splattered all over his face, he still looked rather attractive. I blushed and shook my head slightly to clear the thought , taking hold of his wrist and elbow.

"This is the worst part..." I warned my patient in advance.

The corners of his mouth twitched the slightest bit, in a half smile. "It canna hurt much worse that it does right now. Get on wi' it!"

Someone stuffed a belt into his mouth to bite onto and bear the pain. Eyes shut close, mouth set in a straight line and his face was white and breaking out in sweat, contorted with pain. As soon as I touched his skin again, I could feel a rush of warmth in my hands and my energy somehow draining from me into him. I felt a comforting warmth flooding my body and suddenly, his shoulder gave a soft crunching _pop!_ andthe joint was back in place. My patient relaxed immediately and looked amazed. He put a hand up to his shoulder in disbelief.

"It doesna hurt anymore!" he exclaimed. A broad grin of relief spread across his face. The rest of the men broke out in wild Gaelic exclamations of praise and applause.

"It will..." I said a little breathless, but happy with the result nonetheless. "You need to take it easy!" I myself was feeling slightly weak and thought I would fall over if I didn't take it easy.

"Och, aye..." he nodded meekly at me.

"Good work, lass!" Dougal complimented me. Once again, if he was startled by my actions and my medical knowledge, he didn't show it.

Angus, who had attempted to put the joint back before me unsuccessfully, tossed me an old grubby rag.

"If you've such experience, ye can dress the wound yerself, lass!"

"I can't use this!" I complained. "It's filthy!"

"Do it!" he commanded.

I glared daggers at him and rolled my eyes again, but said nothing. Tossing the rag aside, I ripped a long strip from my already ruined shirt, improvising with it as a bandage. While hardly sterile, it was by far the cleanest material at hand. The men stared at me in surprise as I riped appart my clothes further and exposed myself. Jamie gallantly avoided his gaze, his cheeks flushing slightly. I rolled my eyes. I hardly cared by this point if I was exposing myself more than neccessary in the most indecent ways.

"Come back here you - you - you fucking bastard!" I finished tying one end of the improvised bandage and the other end had come untied.

There was a moment of shocked silence.

"Christ!" said Dougal. "I've ne'er heard a woman use such language in my life!"

"Then ye've ne'er met my Auntie Grisel!" said Rupert, much to the hilarity of others.

"Yer husband should tan yer hide, woman!" said Angus. "As St. Paul says: 'Let a woman be silent, and-'"

"You can mind your own fucking bussiness!" I growled dangerously. "And so can St. Paul!" I pulled too hard on one end of the bandage, and the entire dressing fell off. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" I cursed loudly, much to the amusement of my patient.

"And you!" I turned to Jamie. "If you move as much as a single muscle, I swear I'll strangle you!"

"Och, aye!" he answered meekly, though an amused smile still played on his face.

"Perhaps we should send her to St. Anne's abbey?" offered Rupert. "She'll learn her place there quickly, aswell as not to curse and talk back to her superiors!"

I could hear some Gaelic voices behind me again. I turned around to face the possessors of the voices and glared at them fiercely. 

I didn't want to nor did I listen to anything else they said and tried to dress the wound as best as I could, which wasn't very good. _If you've got shit tools to work with you're going to produce shit_ _,_ I thought. Eventually, I did it and improvised with his torn shirt sleeve as a sling.

"I need a belt to strap the arm to his side - you!" I exclaimed, pointing to Angus. "Give me your belt!"

"Give me yer belt, she says!" mimicked Angus, much to the hilarity of others.

"Give her yer belt!" barked Dougal.

Angus handed me his belt grudgingly, mumbling something under his breath. I finally managed to strap his arm to the side.

"There, all done!" I said proudly.

Dougal grunted with approval.

"Can ye ride one-handed, Jamie lad?"

Jamie nodded. "Och, aye uncle!"

"Alright then, let's go! The lass is coming with us!"

I narrowed my eyes at him and folded my arms across my chest. "Who said I was going with you?" But my protests - as usual of course - went completely ignored. _Well what could you expect from the 1700s?_ I thought. These idiots wouldn't listen to a woman - let alone a _young girl_ , even if I fell down on my knees and begged them.

I rolled my eyes yet again, and offered my hand to my patient to help him to his feet. Jamie took it gratefully, heaving himself up. I was fairly surprised by my own strength as much as he was, that I managed to hoist him up.

I knew he was a large man even as he sat on the stool, but now standing up, I could see he was extremely tall, well over six feet. He towered over me by a good dozen inches - _I barely reached his shoulders!_ It was quite intimidating. Our eyes met again but instead of being frightened, I somehow felt empowered.

"Thank ye Sassenach! Truly!"

"Magda..." I whispered quietly.

"What?" he asked in confusion, his brows furrowed.

"My name is Magda." I said, extending my hand for him to shake. I then retreated it as I realised my own stupidy. _People don't shake hands in the 1700s!_ my mind screamed. But he was quicker - he took my small cold hands into his warm and much larger ones and placed a kiss upon the knuckles, and I felt another rush of warmth.

"Well Magda..." he said with a grin. "I'm Jamie!"

For the first time since I travelled back in time to the 18th century, I smiled...

***

_Please make sure to review and vote for my story!_

_Thank you!_

_Maggie_

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	6. Highlander Gang

**22nd of** **March** 1 ** 743,  ** **Highlands** ,  **Scotland**

Jamie Fraser sat on a small stool in front of the fire, rocking back and forth slightly, the pain evident on his face. His companions sat around the fire aswell, talking amongst eachother in Gaelic, telling bawdy jokes, laughing and sharing whisky. Jamie clutched his shoulder with the opposite hand, as he had been shot with a musket ball and blood was running freely down his arm. Not only that - he also dislocated his shoulder when he fell off the horse and landed with his whole weight on the hand. His arm hung limply at the side in an impossible angle, causing Jamie agonising pain.

Just when Jamie thought he couldn't take it any longer, the door of the cottage swung open with a loud creek, the cold night air pouring inside. Murtagh - his godfather - was back, and he had someone with him. But not just anyone - no - it was a lass. _And a bonnie lassie aswell,_ thought Jamie. The lass was young and small - very small - but looked like she could kill a man with her fierce glare. She had long brown curly hair, which was a tangled mess and was wearing the strangest clothes he had ever seen. It was some type of men's clothing: a black printed shirt ripped down the middle exposing her torso with an odd red lacy thing wrapped around chest and the weirdest pair of breeches, blue and tight and dirty.

They made brief eye contact, but the lass blushed and broke away first, hanging her head down shyly. But still, he caught a glimpse of her eyes - golden brown, the colour of the finest whisky.

Jamie barely looked up during the strange lass' interrogation by his uncle Dougal, and Rupert's rude remarks towards her, and he couldn't help but look up and grin slightly as she spoke harshly to Dougal. Her anger was palpable, her sarcasm dripping from the snide comment. But as soon as Angus wanted to force his joint back into place, the lass spoke up. Apparently, his arm was in the wrong possition and could be broken it if it was done that way. Angus was obviously annoyed that anybody would doubt his skills, especially a young lassie.

Much to Jamie's surprise, the lass limped towards him and took hold of his wrist and elbow. He had a chance to look at the lass and he could see her clearly, even in the dim light of the fire: though her face was bruised and bloodied, she was pretty. She had a soft but clear voice, lovely fair skin, full pink lips and a pair of the most gorgeous eyes he had ever seen. They were an alluring shade of golden brown, the colour of amber and honey and the setting sun.

Jamie took another drought of whisky to numb the pain, while Murtagh and Dougal stood behind him, holding him up. His eyes were shut close, mouth set in a straight line and his face was white and breaking out in sweat, contorted in pain. As she placed her hands on his shoulder, he could feel warmth radiating through her fingertips and coursing through his entire body. Her fingers left behind a mild but pleasant tingling sensation. The lass struggled a bit but suddenly, his shoulder gave a soft crunching _pop!_ and the joint was back in place. Jamie relaxed immediately and looked amazed. He put a hand up to his shoulder in disbelief. The men around him broke out in wild Gaelic exclamations of praise and applause, and Dougal congratulated the lass himself.

A broad grin of relief spread across Jamie's face, and he felt the sudden urge to lift the lass off her feet and kiss her with joy and gratitude. She tried to dress the wound as best as she could, using the fabric of her shirt as a bandage and Ruperts belt to hold it all in place. As she ripped the fabric from her shirt, he avoided his eyes from her chest, as much as he wanted to stare at her breasts, and he could feel heat creeping up from his chest upwards. Once she was done, she offered him a hand to help him up.

Jamie took it gratefully. Once he got up, he saw that he towered over the lass by at least a dozen inches - she barely reached his shoulders. Unlike the first time and much to his surprise, instead of looking scared, she lifted her chin up a fraction and stared at him defiantly.

"I thank ye, Sassenach! Truly!"

"Magda..." she whispered barely audibly, but he heard it.

"What?" asked Jamie in confusion, browns furrowed.

"My name is Magda." she repeated again, extending her hand to him once more. He took hold of her both hands, so small and cold, now resting in the palms of his much warmer and larger ones. He reveled at the softness of them - running his thumb over her knuckles and pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles.

"Well Magda..." said Jamie with a broad grin. "I'm Jamie!"

And Magda smiled at him, such a lovely and charming smile, and he couldn't help but smile back...

***

We stepped out of the small cottage and into the cold night air. Angus and Rupert were already outside, holding the reins of six horses outside and muttering soft Gaelic endearments to them in the dark. There weren't enough horses so I could ride alone, so I was probably riding with one of the men. I was rather good at riding, but I didn't think Dougal would let me ride unsupervised, as I could easily escape. Nana used to take me to horse-riding lessons back in New York when I was younger and I was proud to say that I was rather skilled in the saddle. Sadly, I hardly rode after my grandma passed away, and she remained in our local stables.

The men were shapeless masses in the dark, and I thought about trying to slip away into the trees. But Dougal, as if reading my thoughts, grabbed my elbow and pulled me towards the horses.

"Jamie lad, get yerself up!" he said."The lass will ride wi' ye!" he nodded towards me.

Jamie, who was standing behind us, swung up onto the horse effortlessly and without any help, even with one immobile arm.

"Ye can hold the reins lass, if Jamie canna manage one handed." he said to me. "But keep close wi' the rest of us. If ye stray away from the group or try to run, I'll cut yer throat. D'ye understand?" His voice was now low and dangerous, threatening me.

I simply nodded, too numb and tired to argue anymore, much less likely to ask where we were going.

Dougal suddenly stooped low beside me and growled. "Yer foot lass! Give me yer foot!"

"I think I'll manage myself, thank you!" I hissed back. 

Jamie offered me his good arm and with that I got up on to the horse easily without a struggle, settling in the saddle in front of Jamie who gathered me in towards his body with his good arm. I took hold of the reins myself, as Jamie currently was unable to. Murtagh handed me my backpack and I clutched it safely against my chest, in fear of losing the last of my belongings in this mad time.

"Alright then, let's go!" grumbled Dougal.

And with that, we were off. With no more than the faint chinking of bridles, we started moving in the starlit night along the bumpy path. There was no conversation among the men, only a general wary watchfulness. The horses broke into a trot as soon as we reached the track. I was jostled about a bit, but kept a steady hold on the reins and dug my feet firmly into the sides of the horse, to prevent myself from falling off. I had of course ridden a horse many times, but never in the middle of the night and in an 18th century saddle. Frankly, I was by no means the horseman Jamie was, sitting up straight in the saddle without as much as a blink, even injured with one immobile arm. _He must have been born in the stables!_ I thought dryly. As Jamie was hurt, I occasionally shifted my thighs to press and guide the horse.

The men passed around drinks - whisky in leather flasks several of them carried. I was offered some of the contents, but declined. It was difficult enough for me to stay in the saddle sober. My escort on the other hand, took a long swig.

"I see ye ken yer way around horses, Sassenach." murmured a soft voice in my ear.

I jumped a little, startled. I turned around slightly only to see Jamie, smiling down at me in the moonlight.

"I've been riding nearly all my life." I answered honestly, shrugging it off as no big deal.

"Aye, so have I." he nodded. "But it's verra impressive for a young lassie."

"Thank you." I said. "But where are we going?" I asked, finally gathering up the courage.

He chuckled softly, pulling me closer to him. "Tell ye the truth Sassenach, I dinnae ken. I reckon we'll find out when we get there."

***

_Oh Lord!_

Jamie was fighting a mental battle inside his head.

The lassie sitting in front of him, was pressed flush against his body. Not only that, but her arse was rubbing against his crotch shamelessly with each step and sway of his horse. He couldn't help but marvel at the feeling of her bonnie round arse between his thighs, pressed warm and delicious against him, and her rock solid head thumping him in the chest. He had to force his mind not to rut against her warm soft body like some wild beast. His weeping cock was rock hard and ready beneath his kilt. He was sure she could feel it, as she tensed slightly against him.

Jamie wanted her - he wanted her _bad._

His mind screamed at him to take her.

But he couldn't - not now and here anyway.

His horse swayed again slightly and Magda shifted in the saddle, pressing her arse closer to his body.

_Holy God_ _!_

***

I tensed up a little. I could feel something long and hard pressed up against my buttocks, poking me. I shifted against it experimentaly, which only resulted with a sharp intake of breath from behind me. _Oh my fucking God!_ I thought, panicking slightly in my mind. _That's a fucking erection!_ The owner of the erection, aka Jamie, shifted behind me again, as if to adjust himself. I started to feel uncomfortable...

"Jamie?" I whispered.

He grunted in response.

"Umm... I need to use the toilet - I mean the latrine so... Umm... If we could stop for a while..." I stammered and blushed a little bit, but hoped that would go unnoticed in the dark. I needed to get out of this situation as soon as possible...

As we started slowing down, Dougal's voice rang from far ahead. "Oi Jamie lad, ye alright? Why are ye stoppin'?"

"I need to empty my bladder!" Jamie called back, gallantly taking the blame for the hold-up.

"Well dinna take long then! Make sure to keep an eye on the lass, and catch up with us again after yer finished!"

"Och, dinna fash yerself, uncle, we'll be fine!"

When we slowed down enough, I jumped off the horse, with Jamie soon following suit. He tied his horse to a nearby tree as I went deeper into the woods, to find a spot where I could relieve myself - or so he thought. I mimed pulling my jeans down in the dark when-

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?" I exclaimed as I heard a faint rustle of leaves, and turned to stare at Jamie who was standing right behind me, watching me intensely.

"Well watching ye, of course! Ye heard Dougal, I have strict orders to not let ye run away!"

"Which means you even have to watch me pee?" I asked incredulously.

"Aye, even watching ye pee!" he confirmed with a grin, leaning against a tree. "So ye should get on with it!"

"You could at least turn around!" I mumbled with my cheeks burning from shame, mustering up the rest of dignity that I had left.

"Alright." he said as he turned around.

But I wasn't satisfied. "I can't do it with someone standing right here, I'm too nervous. Go further!"

He took a few steps.

" _Further!_ " I cried with exasperation.

"Alright, alright lass!" he said, throwing his hands up, as if in defeat.

When I was sure he was out of sight, I put the rest of my plan into action. Slowly and as quietly as I could, I made my way through the trees. Out of fear, I broke into a run, in hopes that no one would catch me.

I barely ran three steps when suddenly, a strong arm shot out of nowhere preventing me from running further, and I could feel myself being pinned between a tree and a sizeable male body. I struggled to set myself free, but to no avail - I was stuck.

"How far did ye think ye'd get, Sassenach?"

_Jamie!_

"What the _fuck_ are you doing, sneaking up on me like that?" I exclaimed.

"The question is, what are ye doing lass." he asked, amused by my escapade.

"I was just trying to find a spot to relieve myself."

He cocked a quizical eyebrow at me, not believing a word. "Of course ye were!"

I folded my arms across my chest in defense and stared back at him.

"Alright, if yer not gonna pee, let's go then!" he said, grabbing my arm and trying to force me to follow him.

I didn't even budge. "No! I'm not going with you!" I said, folding my arms again.

He looked surprised at my resistance, and slightly amused. "Aye, ye are!"

"No, I'm not!" I repeated clearly once again.

"Ye are, whether ye like it or no'!"

"And if I won't?" I said taunting him - daring him. "Are you going to cut my throat?"

"Of course no'. Yer small and ye dinna look heavy. If ye won't walk, I'll pick ye up and sling ye over my shoulder? Do ye want me to do that?" He threatened as he took a step towards me and I backed up hastily, finding my back pressed against a tree again.

"No!" I cried indignantly. "You wouldn't dare - besides, you'll damage your arm even more!" I didn't have the slightest doubt my patient wouldn't do it though - injury or not.

I saw him grinning at me once again in the moonlight. "Well then, since ye dinna want me to hurt myself, I suppose that means yer coming with me!"

"Ok, ok fine..."

I made a move as if I was going towards him - but then I broke into a run again. I barely ran a few steps, when all of a sudden, I felt myself being lifted up into his arms, draped over his shoulder and carried away. I pounded my small fists into his back and thrashed about wildly. I tried to scream, but his large hand came up and covered my mouth. I struggled violently to get myself free and sank my teeth into his hand. He hissed with pain, but didn't let me go.

"Feisty wee bitch!" he said and I could hear slight amusement in his voice again. _Bloody Scottish barbarian!_

We reached his horse which was tied to a tree and waited patiently. Jamie then plopped me down unceremoniously in the saddle and heaved himself behind me again.

As we set of again to find the rest of the travel party, my head gave his shoulder an unintentional thump and he drew in his breath with a hiss.

"Serves you right!" I said grumpily. "You should have let me go!"

"Aye, maybe I should have." he admited with a grin. "But then again, I wouldna get the pleasure of riding with ye again!"

I gasped, turning around and smacking his chest. "Shut up!" But he only chuckled again and snaked a large hand around my waist, pulling me in closer. My patient was obviously feeling better. _A white knight upon a fiery steed, my arse!_ I thought bitterly.

As we reached Dougal and the others, who were waiting for us by the track, Jamie leaned down to whisper in my ear. "Dinna fash, Sassenach - I willna tell Dougal about yer wee escape."

"Oi, Jamie lad! Took ye long enough!" shouted Dougal, then eyed me suspiciously. "Ye didna have any trouble, did ye?"

"Och, nay uncle!" Jamie called back. "Just a bit difficult riding with one arm - it pains me so!" Then he turned to me, drawing me against his body. "But, ye can help again once we get to our destination."

"That's what you think!" I said dryly, squirming away from him.

Now if it wasn't bad enough that I was half naked and it was the middle of a cold late March night, it had also started raining heavily. Soon enough, my clothes were soaked and my curly hair, now damp with the rain clung to my face, the droplets cascading down my back.

Some moments later, I could feel Jamie twisting and turning behind me.

"Careful!" I scolded. "What are you doing? You'll hurt your shoulder even more!"

"I'm trying to get my plaid loose to cover ye." he replied. "You're shivering so bad it's making my teeth rattle."

"Oh..." was all I managed to get out of me.

"But I canna do it one-handed. Can ye reach the clasp of the brooch for me?"

With a good deal of tugging and awkward shifting, we finally got the plaid loosened. He then twisted the cloth and let it settle around his form and my shoulders like a shawl, so we were both warmly wrapped.

"There!" he said in triumph. "I dinna want ye to freeze to death before we even get there."

"Thank you..." I mumbled, grateful for the shelter, but a bit startled by his noble actions towards me, since I had been nothing but cold and rude to him.

Once again, we broke into a trot. But unlike before, the men were in good spirits and conversation flowed among them. I wasn't really tempted to say anything but even if I did, I doubted that any of them would listen to me. There was a great deal of laughter and bawdy jokes going on, much to my distaste. The whisky was passed around again and I once again declined. I wasn't the slightest bit thirsty, plus I found it hard enough staying in the saddle sober. But I was _starving_ and had been for some time, since the dinner with Adelaide at the pub in Inverness. My stomach gave an embarassingly loud growl, protesting my neglect.

"Oi, Jamie lad!" shouted Rupert, mistaking the source of the noise. "Hungry are ye? Or have ye a set of bagpipes wi' ye, eh?"

"Hungry enought to eat a set of pipes, I reckon!" called Jamie, gallantly assuming the blame again and sparing me from any further embarassment.

A moment later, a hand came up in front of me holding a flask. "Better have a wee nip, Sassenach!" he whispered to me. "It willna fill yer belly, but it will make ye forget yer hungry."

Sick with hunger, I gladly took a large sip. It wasn't as good as the modern day whisky: the hot and spicy spirit burnt the back of my throat as I drank. I coughed a little, but tilted the flask once more and swallowed, much to the surprise of the other men. Whiping my mouth with the back of hand, I handed the flask back to Jamie.

He was grinning down at me again, obviously impressed. "Ye drink like a grown man, lassie!"

"So I've been told!" I said, managing a weak smile towards him. "You should get used to it!"

He chuckled again, drawing me in closely with his good arm. "Try to sleep, Sassenach!" he said. "It's gonna be a long ride together."

"Will you manage?" I asked.

"Och aye! Dinna fash, Sassenach - I'll be alright!"

I settled closer to him, very much grateful for Jamie's warmth, as I had very little on appart from my torn shirt and jeans, now drenched with rain.

"Goodnight Sassenach..." he murmured against my ear.

"My name is Magda..." I mumbled sleepily, already drifting off.

"Sleep well then - _Magda..._ " he whispered in my ear, his soft hot breath caressing the side of my face. Involuntarily, a shiver travelled down my spine at his voice.

With Jamie's comforting warmth around me and the gentle sway of the horse, I was eventually rocked into a deep sleep...

***

_Please make sure to review and vote for my story!_

_Thank you!_

_Maggie_

** TO BE CONTINUED... **


	7. Castle Leoch

**22nd of March 1743, Highlands, Scotland**

_Pigs!_

As the lassie fell asleep leaning against his chest, Jamie let out a sigh of relief, not realising he had been holding his breath. But even in her sleep, her bonnie round arse was rubbing against his crotch and he had to resist the strong urge to grind against her and ease the pressure on his cock. He was rock hard and aching, his erection now almost bordering on painful, and he could already feel a small bit of pre-come leaking from the tip.

He had to think of something - _quickly!_

_Pigs! Disgusting, dirty, muddy pigs! Fat stinking pigs rolling around in their own filth... Fat pigs... Oh yes fat... Mmm, her delicious fat arse..._

His horse stepped into a small hole, and Magda's arse collided with his crotch.

 _No! -_ That wasn't working. He needed to think of something else to distract him... _The weather! The cold and rainy weather! Mmm, yes, she would warm him up in no time... With that lovely plump arse pressing against him, begging for him to touch it..._

Now his horse tripped over a rock, and Magda's arse was pressed flush against his groin.

 _No no no! -_ He had to focus on something different besides her arse... _Oh yes, her beautiful arse that would fit perfectly into his hands as he would thrust into her wildly from behind..._

The fact that Magda's arse was pushed so close to his body certainly didn't help with his situation. Jamie felt as if he was about to burst right there and now. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, scooting away from her, trying not to spill his seed inside the fabric of his kilt.

Definitely not! - Hmm, how about... _Eating grass! Seeing Mrs Crook in her shift! Lying for three hours in the middle of the night on the cold stone floor of a chapel in February! The poxed toothless whore in a French brothel with the foul odour! The putrid straw against his cheek as he lay in a cold damp cell! Dead disembowled bodies with their rotting stench that one could smell miles away!_

But when his horse swayed slightly and Magda shifted against him once more. Jamie bit back a loud groan, but some small sound must have been released.

_Jesus Christ!_

"Ye alright there, Jamie lad?" asked Murtagh, raising one eyebrow.

"Hmm?" mumbled Jamie stupidly, not being able to form a coherent answer since the majority of his blood was flowing south of his brain. "Och, aye! My shoulder just aches!" If something was aching, it was definitely lower than his shoulder.

Murtagh grunted in response, but his black eyes twinkled mischeviously under his bushy brows. Jamie blushed slightly in the dark, very much hoping that his godfather thought he moaned in pain, and not in pleasure. That he didn't know how the lass was driving him mad with desire.

"Oi, who'd ye think she is, eh?" asked Dougal in Gaelic. "I reckon she's a Sassenach spy!" He spat on the ground for good measure.

Jamie rolled his eyes in the dark. _Of course his uncle Dougal was suspicious,_ he thought.

"Aye, there's something strange about her!" answered Murtagh in the same language.

"She's probably just a wee slut!" Angus grinned lewdly, joining into the discussion.

"I'd like to get to ken her myself, if ye ken what I mean!" laughed Rupert, and the rest of the men followed suit.

"What about ye, Jamie lad? What do ye think?" asked Dougal, turning to look at Jamie.

"Och, I dinna ken yet uncle - I only ken she's neither a spy nor a whore..." said Jamie, voicing his own thoughts. He paused for a moment. "Nay, she's too young and bonnie, English or no', either way... But even the way she speaks and acts is odd - not to mention her strange clothes..."

At that exact moment, everyone paused to look at the small sleeping form of Magda. Jamie didn't like the way all the men were leering at her - he didn't like it one bit. Possessiveness settled low in the pit of his stomach and he nearly growled at them. He drew the plaid closer around them, securing it tightly around her. Her shirt was ripped thus exposing her chest, and he didn't want anyone else to see anymore of her lovely round breasts. He was also slightly worried that she would wake up with all the jostling about on his horse, loud talking and at least a dozen pairs of eyes burning their gaze into her.

"Well, as young and bonnie as she may be, ye have to admit there is something strange and unusual about her!" said Dougal. "We have to be careful, watch her every step!"

"Nay, yer exaggerating, uncle! I believe her wee story - but I also believe that there is something she's no' telling us!" said Jamie.

Dougal only grunted in response and the rest of the journey continued with quiet chatter from the men.

In the saddle in front of him, Magda started stirring in her sleep, a sure indication that she was going to wake up soon. Even in her still sleepy state, her soft warm body drove him crazy with lust.

Err... what now? _Getting flogged half to death by Black Jack Randall at Fort William!_

But then Magda squirmed again in the saddle and scooted closer to him. Jamie held his breath again. He could feel the heat of her through his kilt and her breeches. Only two layers, two maddening layers between them.

_A Dhía!_

_***_

I could feel myself slowly drifting back to consciousness. I slept on and off, as much as I could from being jostled about on the horse. I was usually a heavy sleeper, but under different circumstances - such as spending many hours of the night on horseback - I was restless. I reluctantly cracked one eye open. My neck felt as stiff as a block of wood from lying on Jamie's chest, my thighs and buttocks ached from the saddle and I could once again feel the erection pressed against my backside.

I felt a gentle nudge and turned around, only to find Jamie smiling down at me. I must have fallen asleep leaning against his chest. "I'm sorry to wake ye ,Sassenach, but we're nearly there." he whispered.

I struggled to stiffle a yawn and rubbed my eyes vigourously. "Hmm, it's ok..." I mumbled.

"It won't be long, try to sleep again, lass." he said.

"Hmm..." I said again sleepily. "Anyway, are we there yet, wherever we're going?"

"No, not yet, I reckon it will take a couple more hours." he said with a chuckle, pulling me against his chest again. "Ye rest yer head once more against me, lass, I'll tell ye when we get there!"

We rode for a few more hours and the journey passed uneventfully. I was offered more whisky, which I drank without hesitation. The whisky built a small warm fire that burned comfortably in the pit of my stomach, making me momentarily forget my hunger. Whereas the men chatted away, Jamie and I rode in comfortable silence, sharing both the reins and whisky flask. My escort occasionally grunted in discomfort when a misstep of the horse jostled him, but appart from that we were silent.

I was still very tired, and just as my eyelids started drooping, Jamie nudged me again. "Look Sassenach, we're here!"

I craned my neck to see where he was pointing.

Looming up infront of us in the mist was a large dark shape. As we got closer, I could just about make out a huge bulk of grey stone when I squinted very hard. The building - I dully noted it looked like some sort of medieval castle - had thick stone walls, a high slate roof, a few towers and several chimneys smoking into the evening sky. There were slitted glass windows and the enterance gate looked as if it could fit a good sized truck through it, or at least from what I could tell for afar. I could now identify the building as a medieval castle, which stood on a small island in the middle of a gleaming loch with only a stone bridge leading up to it.

I sensed something very strange about that place, yet very familiar at the same time, but I couldn't place my finger on it. "Where are we?" I asked quietly.

"Why, Castle Leoch of course, Sassenach!" answered Jamie.

_Castle Leoch - of course! How could I have been so stupid?_

I had visited _'some sort of a medival castle'_ , now identified as Castle Leoch, only a week previously with my school. The stronghold of Clan MacKenzie, it was in a much better condition now than it was three hundred years in the future when one wing of the castle was a ruin, though it was much more dirty and primitive now.

We continued riding through the enterance gate, and people headed towards the castle moved aside to the edge of the road to let us pass, plainly gawking at my strange clothing. I scrutinized them with my fierce gaze, and they luckily turned around and went back to tending to their own bussiness. Once in the courtyard, Dougal, the leader of our group dismounted his horse first and the rest of us quickly followed suit.

"Oi, Dougal!" shouted an older man limping towards us. I noticed that he only had one eye, wearing a balck patch over the one that was missing. "What are ye doing here? We hadna thought to see ye before the Gathering!"

"Aye, we're early. Some interestin' things happened..." answered Dougal whilst handing the reins of his horse to a dirty stable boy, and then turning to look towards me. "Well, I'm off in a hurry to see my brother, some things just canna wait. Summon Mrs Fitz to feed the lads. They'll need their food and their beds."

And with that, he was gone and disappeared inside the castle with Murtagh right behind him. The old man turned around and took notice of me and Jamie, his one good eye narrowing in suspicion.

"Oi, Jamie lad! Who have ye with ye then, eh?" he asked, eye twinkling mischeviously. "Finally planning on losing yer honour?"

I felt my cheeks flushing hotly at his suggestion and I could also feel Jamie tensing slightly behind me.

"Nae Alec, Murtagh found 'er on the way, rescued her from the redcoats, and Dougal said she must come wi' us." he answered more calmly.

The old man, Alec, only grunted in response. "Alright then, let me at least help ye of the horse, lass."

"No thank you, there's no need for your help!" I said hurriedly and swung my legs over the horse and landed on both feet, wincing slightly because of my twisted ankle.

The rest of our little travelling party stood in the wet and muddy courtyard for another good few minutes in the chill and drizzling weather, waiting upon Mrs Fitz to show up, whoever that was. It started raining heavily again and pack of curious kids gathered around me, speculating about who I might be. The older children were circling me and whispering not so quietly, but the younger ones hung in the back shyly.

Just then, I felt a sweaty hand tug on my shirt and turned to look down at wide curious blue eyes. They bellonged to a little ginger boy of about seven or eight, staring back up at me with obvious interest. "Are ye a lad or a lassie?" he asked boldly, once he plucked up the courage to talk to me.

I was so caught off guard by his question that I just stared back at him stupidly and then started laughing hysterically.

"Ye canna ask her if she's a lad or a lassie, Hamish!" gasped a brown haired girl.

"She's obviously a lassie, just look at her long hair!" said another girl, this time a blonde one.

A black haired boy decided to jump into the conversation, as if to not feel left out. "But she's wearin' breeches!" he tried to argue.

I was still wheezing when I heard brief snorting behind me, so I turned around, only to find Jamie trying to hold in his laughter. I grinned at him and he grinned right back.

All of a sudden, the form of what I thought must be Mrs Fitz hurried out of the door's archway. She was a large stout lady wearing brown homespun and a linen apron and cap. She bustled out of the doorway with surprising speed and shooed the prying children away, grabbing the ginger boy's grubby little hands from me.

"Ye nosy wee thing, Hamish!" she said sternly, though I could see her smile. "Ye better get back inside before ye catch the chills, or else I'll tell yer father about bothering folk!"

The little boy, Hamish, had his eyes widened as big as a pair of saucers before he sprinted back into the castle and I chuckled slightly.

"Rupert, m'dear!" cried Mrs Fitz. "How good to see ye! And Angus!" she said, giving them both a hearty hug.

Mrs Fitz then turned back to me and Jamie, and procceeded to stare at me open-mouthed.

Jamie cleared his throat. "Magdalena Thompson," he said, with a brief tilt of his head towards me. "And Mistress FitzGibbons," he added, with a tilt the other way. "Murtagh found her yesterday, and Dougal said we should bring her along."

"Well then - Magdalena..." she said slowly, testing out my name on her tongue. Mistress FitzGibbons was still looking at me with a certain weariness. Then apparently deciding that I was harmless enough, despite my odd and scandalous appearance, she gave me a crooked smile. I smiled back at her weakly.

"Welcome to ye Magdalena! Come along wi' me now and we will find ye something a bit more..." she paused, shaking her head at my ripped black Queen shirt and red lacy bra with my breasts shamelessly on display. "Well, a bit more!"

She took a firm grip on my arm and started leading me into the archway, when I remembered my patient.

"Wait please, I forgot about Jamie!"

"I'm alright!" my patient called back, already trying to disappear in the opposite direction. "I can find the food and bed myself!"

"No you're not!" I said with exasperation and turned to Mistress FitzGibbons. "He's hurt - he was shot yesterday! I bandaged the wound, but I didn't have time to clean or dress it properly. I have to take care of it now, before it gets infected." I explained to her.

"Infected?"

 _Shit!_ "Umm... I mean inflamed - you know - with pus and swelling and fever." I said quickly.

She looked me up and down with an uncertain look in her eyes. "Och aye, I ken verra well what ye mean. But do ye mean to tell me that ye ken what to do with it? Are ye a healer then? One of the Beatons?"

"Yeah, something like that." I said, dismissing the matter altogether with a wave of my hand.

"Alright then Jamie, come wi' us and let Margaret tend to ye!" she called to Jamie.

Finally getting out of the muddy courtyard and cold rain, Mistress FitzGibbons took both Jamie and I by the arm and led us into the castle through the archway. It was a long trip through the narrow corridors and its cold stone walls, only dimly lit by the slitted windows and those 18th century fire torches. There was a strange feeling settling in the pit of my stomach, the sudden realisation that I had walked within this castle only a week ago and three centuries in the future! I had already been there in the past, or was it the future?

We finally came to a wooden door, which Mistress FitzGibbons opened for us as we stepped inside. I found myself standing in a fairly large room furnished with a wooden four-poster bed with curtains, a couple of chairs, a table, and most importantly, a fire. I rushed to the hearth, momentarily forgetting my patient, and warmed my hands. The heat of the flame was welcoming, and I closed my eyes in momentary bliss.

Meanwhile, Mistress FitzGibbons sat my patient on a stool by the fire and gently got him rid of the remnants of his tattered shirt, replaicing it with a warm quilt from the bed and drapping it over his back and good shoulder. She peered at the wound with interest, which was bruised and swollen, softly poking and probbing at my clumsy dressing.

"Now then, what will ye be needing, Magdalena?" asked Mistress FitzGibbons.

I turned around and thought quickly. _Shit!_ _What the fuck did people use in the 1700s as medication for preventing infections, before the invention of penicillin?_ I scolded myself inside my head. _And penicillin was ironically_ _invented_ _by a Scotsman, only 200 tears from now._

"Garlic!" I finally cried out in triumph. The book on herbs and their medicinal uses nana gave to me was now paying off. "Garlic and thyme. I'll also need several clean pieces of cloth and a cauldron with water for boiling!"

Mistress FitzGibbons just nodded.

I thought hard, just in case I had forgotten anything. "Oh, and perhaps willow bark for the pain!" _18th century painkiller!_ I thought hapily, a smug grin tugging at the corners of my lips.

She only nodded again. "Aye, I'll manage that, perhaps a bit o' comfrey as well? What about some camomile tea? Ye look as if it's been a long night."

"Yes please, thank you." I said, realising that I must look a sight, with sore reddened eyelids from the lack of proper sleep and black mascara smudged under my eyes.

Mistress FitzGibbons was back soon, with her apron full of garlic bulbs, little bags with dried herbs and torn strips of linen. A small black iron cauldron hung from one arm and she carried a pitcher of water in the other.

I got to work at once, even though I was deathly tired, and set to boiling the water over the open fire and peeling the garlic cloves. I then inspected the herb packets, identifying the thyme that I asked for, as well as comfrey, willow bark and camomile. I threw several cloves of peeled garlic into the boiling water, with some thyme and comfrey, then added the cloth strips to the mix.

Meanwhile, Mistress FitzGibbons started preparing the tea, a mixture of willow bark and camomile, seeping in a small pan of hot water set by the fire.

"Umm... Thank you - eh - Mistress FitzGibbons..." I said respectfully with my head down. "I can manage from here now."

Mistress FitzGibbons laughed, a merry sound. "Och, lass!" she said, pinching my cheek. "Everybody calls me Mrs Fitz - and ye may also!" I smiled at her weakly and she smiled right back. Looking at her this close up, I could see she was short like me, her plump face adorned with wrinkles, kind blue eyes and ash blonde hair peppered with silver peeking out from beneath her linen cap. "I'll send a bit o' bread and broth up for ye. Do call out if ye need anything else, Magdalena."

She smiled at me kindly again, despite missing severeal important teeth, and left Jamie and I alone together...

_***_

_Please make sure to review and vote for my story!_

_Thank you!_

_Maggie_

** TO BE CONTINUED... **


	8. Confessions

** 22nd of March 1743, Castle Leoch, Scotland **

As soon as Mrs Fitz left, I turned back to my patient. The concoction of camomile and willow bark was now ready, so I poured the tea into two cups and offered one to Jamie. He took it with a nod of thanks and we both sipped on it in silence. I pulled out another stool and sat down, opposite to him. I grimaced slightly when I took the first sip, for the tea was very hot and burned the inside of my mouth, but it was doing wonders to the pain and fatigue that had plagued me for so long. Over the rim of my cup, I noticed Jamie watching me intently. I don't know why, but I felt slightly scared of being left alone with this young man, as gentle and gallant Jamie might have been on our journey...

"Ok, let me have a look at that shoulder before I'll need to amputate it." I said as I drank the last drops of the horrible tea, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

The corner of Jamie's mouth twitched. "Well, I verra much hope that ye willna need to cut me arm off."

I pulled the quilt away from one half of his upper body to have better access to his injured shoulder, and the fabric slipped away to reveal his toned chest and stomach. _Well fuck me,_ I thought. I didn't want to look, but I just couldn't help myself. My eyes quickly scanned over his exposed skin, from his broad shoulders and muscular chest with a light dusting of freckles and springy auburn hair, all the way down to his stomach. My gaze lingered there for longer than neccessary. _Oh my fucking God, he even has abs!_ His well defined abnominal muscles led to a sharp v-shape on his hips, and I even noticed a small sexy line of soft auburn hair that travelled from his navel and into the fabric of his low-slung kilt...

On their own accord, my eyes slid over Jamie yet again, then finally settled back on his face. The corner of his lips quirked up in a lopsided smirk and his dark blue eyes twinkled knowingly. He had caught me staring at him. _Damn it!_ I cleared my throat, feeling heat rising to my cheeks in embarassment. 

"Ye like what ye see, lass?" Jamie asked with a smug grin.

I rolled my eyes. "As if! Now stop distracting me and let me get on with my work." But even as I said so, I knew myself that it wasn't true. He cocked a ruddy brow at me, not believing me either.

"Cocky bastard..." I muttered under my breath.

I stood suddenly and went over to the cauldron in pretense of checking on the boiled rags, willing myself to act normally. With my back now facing him, I desperately tried to calm down my racing heart. In another futile attempt I tried to force the blush creeping up my face back down, but in vain. After the initial embarassment wore off, I made my way to stand behind him and to avoid any further mistake of checking out his body.

 _He is very handsome though,_ I thought. _No! Stop it! Bad Magda, naughty Magda!_

Shaking my head clear of thoughts, I tried to pull the bandages off as carefully as possible. But the improvised bandage stuck to his skin, coming off with the dry blood that had scabbed over. Now fresh droplets of blood formed, oozing slightly from the injury. As I pried the bandage off, I saw that he winced slightly but didn't say a word. I took one linen cloth from the cauldron, squeezing out the extra water and blotted away the worst of the dirt and blood.

I gingerly touched the wound with a feather light touch. His injury was pretty nasty and deep, but the ugly jagged edges of the skin were close together, so it luckily didn't require stitches. _It would heal well soon enough,_ I thought. But then again, it had been left unattended for too long, and in the 18th century without proper healthcare, who knew when it could become infected and kill the young man in mere days... 

"She likes ye already, ye ken." said Jamie as a matter of fact and extracting me from my thoughts, peering over his good shoulder at me. I frowned slightly, then realised he was obviously reffering to Mrs Fitz.

I smiled back nervously. "I can't imagine why."

Jamie grinned at me, but then grimaced as I dabbed at the wound again. He mumbled something under his breath in Gaelic that I didn't quite catch.

"Sorry!" I apologised, drawing back in alarm.

"I'm alright, Sassenach, do what ye must." he said, managing a weak grin in my direction again. But despide the brave facade he put up for me, I noticed that he had gone pale beneath his ruddy stubble.

I resumed back to cleaning the wound. "Does your shoulder hurt a lot?" I asked after a while.

"Nae, no' really." he said after a moment. I narrowed my eyes at him, definitely not convinced.

"Cut the bullshit!" I said, perhaps more harshly than I intended to. "You don't have to play the hero, I just want to help you!"

"It's just a wee bit sore, that's all."

I rolled my eyes but didn't say anything and continued with my work. I proceeded to dig a little deeper under his skin to get the remaining dirt out, not risking an infection setting in. I kept apologising to him over and over again, though my patient hadn't moved nor made a sound, assuring me again and again that he was in no pain whatsoever. But his jaw was clenched, mouth set in a straight line and his eyes were dark with pain, his hands clutched in his lap and bunching up his kilt to have at least some measure of support.

I proceeded to clean the wound as best as I could and made some sort of paste for it from the remaining herbs. As I treated his injured shoulder, I felt the strange warmth in my hands again. And just as before, I could feel my strength slowly creeping from me into him, and making me feel weaker. I tore the clean linen Mrs Fitz had provided for me into strips and started reapplying the bandages. _It wasn't much but at least they were clean,_ I thought. _Nothing like that sad piece of garbage I had to work with earlier._ I must have used too much force to tighten the bandages, for Jamie jerked away from me with a sharp intake of breath.

"Ifrinn!" he cursed loudly. _Hell indeed,_ I thought.

"Sorry!" I said, probably for the one hundredth time.

"Dinna fash, Sassenach." said Jamie with a grim smile. "I've been hurt much worse and by people much less bonnie than yerself."

As soon as he said it, the quilt slipped from his opposite shoulder and exposed his back. I could see now that the poor man had been hurt much worse - he had been brutally flogged, and by the look of it more than once. His whole back was covered with scars. While many had faded into small silvery lines that were barely visible, the worst of the criss-cross scar tissue formed deep and irregular welts across his whole back, from his neck all the way down to the lower back. 

***

As soon as the quilt fell away from his body, thus revealing his scarred back, Jamie tensed up immediately. 

He wanted nothing more than to pull the quilt up over his marred skin again, he wanted to slap her prying hands away, but he couldn't - he was somehow frozen. So he grit his teeth and prepared to endure it: the endless gasps and hushed whispers, the terrified looks and the countless myrriads of questions. If he could do so before, then him could bear it once more.

***

I tried to stiffle my gasp but some small sound must have been released, for Jamie turned around to look at me again and found me staring. I slowly reached out with my hand, stopping just short of touching his back. _It must have been a beautiful back at one point,_ I thought to myself wistfully, _with smooth skin and knotted with muscle._ But when the palm of my hand finally connected with his mared flesh and I skimmed my fingers over it, a sharp pain rippled through my right temple and I saw black again.

A thunderous voice, a voice that could not have been of this earth, screamed in my head again: _Four years ago._ _Lobsterbacks. Obstruction. Escape and theft. Murder. False accusation. Fort William. Cat of nine tails. Flogging. 200 lashes. Flogged twice within a week. Captain Randall._

I quickly retreated my hand as I started to feel woozy again. "Randall!" I gasped. A cocktail of revulsion pulsed through my body.

Jamie's head whipped around as quick as lighting, staring at me in shock. "What?" Cold blue eyes fixed suddenly on mine.

"It was Randall who did this to you, wasn't it?" I asked softly. 

He gawked at me, his mouth hanging open. " _A Dhia!_ How in God's name did ye ken that?"

"I... Well... It seems like something he would do."

"Yer familiar with the man?"

"Yes, I umm... I was attacked by him."

"He didna molest ye, did he?" he asked me sharply.

"Oh no, thank God! He didn't have enough time for that."

There was another long pause between us. The shock of the sight was starting to fade. "Do you want to talk about it?" I asked again softly.

Jamie shrugged with his good shoulder. "Well, there's no' much to tell really..."

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to!" I said quickly, hoping that he didn't feel pressured to tell me. "But it's just that... You know... Sometimes it's easier to share your burden with someone else, instead of carrying the weight of the whole world on your shoulders all alone."

"I dinna wish for ye to worry yer bonnie wee head over it..." he smiled.

I walked around him and sat down on the stool infront of him, reaching out for his hand. He looked at me with raised eyebrows, obviously surprised, but engulfed my small hands in his larger ones, and entwined our fingers together. I felt another sudden rush of heat raidiating from our skin when we touched, making me tingle all over. 

"You don't have to tell me," I started, once again hoping he didn't feel obliged to tell me. "But if you do - well - you should know that I'm a very good listener."

***

And so Jamie told her. 

Talking to her felt just as natural as breathing air to him. And Magda did listen, she listened to him intently - offering him the simple but very welcome comfort of companionship. 

***

Jamie smiled at me slightly. "Well, it happened nearly four years ago... Twas one cold day in October, when Captain Randall came along to our place. The British went around the country collecting whatever they wanted like food, horses, transport and such, ye ken. Me father was away, gone to a funeral. I tried to fight the redcoats off - and mind ye, I was doing fairly well - but there were too many. Then Randall had me beaten for defending me sister's honour. He threatened to kill me. He gave her a choice of offering him better entertainment in the house, in exchange for me life. Me sister - Jenny is her name - went wi' him. She thought he would kill me, and perhaps she was right. I dinna recall what happened after that, but the next thing I knew, I was trussed up in a cart wi' chickens and headed to Fort William."

"It must have been terrible for you..." I said.

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. "Och aye, chickens are verra poor company, especially on a long journey."

I snorted humourlessly, wondering how he was able to make a joke at such a inopportune time.

"I was flogged twice at Fort William," Jamie continued, and I noticed he had a far off, glassy look in his eyes, as if in a trance. I decided to stay quiet. I was using the good old silent method: the long and uncomfortable silence forces people to talk, it pushes them into confession. Now that he had gone this far, I needed to hear the rest.

"Twice one hundred lashes within a week. Once for obstruction, the second time for theft, at least according to the charge sheet. Well, I guess it's whatever the English say that is. The first one wasna that bad, if I could be so bold to say so. Me back was raw, aye, but it was bearable. They wanted to flog me again on the same day, but they were afraid of killing me. I suppose the second time Randall wanted it done properly, so he took on the job himself. He flogged me without mercy, he wanted me to cry out. I could see he was enjoying it, enjoing me back being ripped to shreds, flaying off skin and gouging the muscle underneath. They doused me wi' cold water to keep me conscious. There's no joy in flogging a dead man." 

I shivered involuntarily in both disgust and anger. "I shouldn't think anyone would find pleasure in doing so." I said dryly. If I didn't notice so during my unpleasant encounter with him, now I knew for sure that Randall was one fucking sadist. 

"I was determined that he wouldna break me, so I didna cry out once. About halfway through, I passed out from the pain. Me father - he was there. I couldna see him, but I kent that he was standing behind me. I was told that when I fainted, he clutched his chest and collapsed to the ground like a sack o' grain. He never got up again." 

His voice was thick, eyes were glistening with unshed tears and he squeezed my hand hard. It hurt me, but I didn't say anything or move away from him, because I knew he needed my comfort. I squeezed back. _Cardiac arrest,_ I thought sadly. I stayed quiet again, letting him tell his horrifying story at his own pace.

"Me back was torn to shreds by the time he was finished," he continued. "I could hardly move for days after the second time I was flogged, and I couldna stand wearing a shirt. The wounds got inflamed and I had a fever. Once I could stand, there were some friends who got me out of the camp. There was some ruckus as we left and a redcoat officer was shot. Not by me though - I was so weak that I could barely hang on to me horse, let alone hold a pistol."

I nodded encouragingly. "And then..?"

"Sorry lass, I dinna ken," he sighed. "It all sort of blends in after that and disappears into the fog. Like a bad dream, ye ken?"

"I'm sorry..." I whispered, placing a hand on his good shoulder in what I hoped was a reassuring gesture. 

Jamie suddenly tensed up and extracted his hands from mine, moving away from me. "Nae, it's me that should apologise..." he said, not quite meeting my eyes. He pulled the quilt up again and over his back.

***

Jamie didn't really know why he turned from Magda, why he pushed her away, but he just knew that he had to get away from her. He felt sad, ashamed, lonely, even angry - but not at her. All his anger was aimed at that mad bastard Randall for doing this to him, for ruining him. So he rejected her before she could do the same to him.

The only other person who had seen his back - aside from bloody Black Jack of course - was Murtagh, Dougal and Callum. He didn't want to turn around and see that well-known look of pure horror and disgust in her eyes, at the mere sight of his damaged back, like the others. He wouldn't stand to see that terrible haunted look in her beautiful golden eyes when she looked at him. When she thought of him or spoke to him, he didn't want her to automatically think of his scars.

Or worst of all - he didn't want her pity.

***

I was completely caught off guard and stared at him in shock. "Apologise? For what?"

"For letting ye see my back. Tis no' a pretty sight to see." he said still not looking at me, his face betraying no emotion. "Tis no' appropriate for a young lady of gentle birth, such as yerself." 

Were it not for the serious conversation we just had, I would have laughed out loud. "Ok, first of all: I don't know where you got the idea of me being a lady, but I can assure you I am not!" I said more sharply that I meant to, suppressing the urge to laugh. _A fucking lady my arse,_ I thought. "And secondly: why are you even apologising? You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for!" 

He finally looked at me in surprise. "Ye dinna find it disgusting then? My back doesna repulse ye?"

"Of course not!" I said more gently, but I could still sense that he didn't believe me. 

I slowly put my hand on his back again, careful not to trigger him in any way, and started drawing soothing circles with my fingertips onto his skin. The heat in my hands was back and I felt slightly dizzy. The power that I had still left in my body was being transferred to him, making me weaker and weaker. After a little while, I could feel Jamie relaxing under my touch. I continued with massaging across his mared flesh, wishing to erase the scars permanently with my touch, along with the painful memories that he beared...

***

As soon as Magda touched his scarred back again, Jamie relaxed under her touch.

She had a way of showing him she was sorry, without making him feel pitiful about himself.

He had to resist the urge to lean back against her and moan softly at her touch. Her skillful hands worked magic on him, making him forget both his physical and emotional pain, even if only temporarily. It was like a balm on his troubled soul, soothing the ache within him with a simple brush of her fingertips against his skin. 

Ever since he had been flogged, he lost the sense of feeling in his back. He didn't feel the scorching heat of the sun rays, the cold splashes of raindrops, nor did he feel the weight of his linen shirt on his back. It was numb. But now, he felt a surge of warmth and pleasure shooting up his spine, and all because of her touch that was radiating heat like the hearth itself.

After a very long time, he really let himself feel...

***

"Besides," I added softly. "Every person had their own scars, both physical and emotional..."

He looked up at me in wonder. "Ye truly-"

"Yes." I said, cutting him off. "It's not the same as yours, though it still hurts me sometimes."

He nodded and stayed quiet for a while. "Will ye tell me?"

I smiled at him slightly. "Of course." This time, he reached for my hand first and I accepted it without hesitation, once again accompanied by the pleasant tingling sensation, feeling like thousands of pins embedded into my skin. The heat of his hands was burning a brand into my own ones, but I couldn't find it in myself to care. It all somehow felt easier to talk when we touched. 

I sighed inwardly. I hadn't talked about this in ages, but he shared his burden with me, so I might just aswell reciprocate. _Here we go then,_ I thought.

"Well..." I said clearing my throat of the invisible obstruction. "A few years ago, when I was about thirteen or so, I was bullied by a classmate at school." Seeing his blank expression, I explained further. "Well, she spread rumours about me. She was my friend, or so I thought at the time." I chuckled humourlessly. _And boy, was I wrong._ "So she pretended to be my friend and then back-stabbed me." _Leah was a classic mean girl - Regina George paled in comparison to her._

"At thirteen I - umm - I looked slightly older than my age." I blushed slightly at that. "She was as flat as a pancake and she was obviously jealous of me. So she made up some really nasty rumours about me: that I fancied our teacher, that I wasn't a virgin, that I was a slut and slept around with half of the boys in our school - you get the idea." I quickly stammered on. By now, Jamie's face was nearly the same shade as his hair, but I continued nonetheless. 

"Well, I knew those rumours weren't true, but other people believed them. They either talked about me infront of me as if I wasn't there, made fun of me because of it or didn't speak to me at all." I was starting to get more and more nervous, anxiously playing with a strand of my hair. "At first I didn't tell anyone, wallowing alone in my self depression. Then it got out of hand and-" my voice broke with emotion. "I... I started cutting myself..." my voice cracked again. 

I was rewarded by a confused stare again so I extracted my left hand from his, only to turn it over and show him the now nearly invisible lines on the white skin of my bare forearm. With a slightly unsteady hand, he traced the faded silvery scars with oh so gently with a feather light touch. 

"Ye... Ye did this to yerself?" he whispered in shocked awe.

I nodded. "Yes... Yes I did." I smiled at him sadly. Thinking back, I was disgusted to find that I was self-harming myself - with a dull pair of scissors no less! "I didn't really want to harm myself - it was more like a silent cry for help." He nodded aswell, eyes wide with dawning understanding. "My parents found out and well... They were obviously horrified, but... We talked it out. Then I went to a psychologist-" _He doesn't know who a psychologist is, you dumb-head!_ "I mean a doctor - and that helped me a lot aswell."

"I'm verra glad ye're alright now," said Jamie, breaking the silence. "If there's anythin' that I can do for ye-"

"You already did," I said with a smile, cutting him off. "You listened."

He smiled at me aswell and kept on gently rubbing the faint scars on my left arm, as if hoping they would magically disappear...

***

 _Christ, she is a brave wee thing,_ Jamie thought to himself.

If he was to be honest, he was slightly surprised by her sudden confession. Surprised but intrigued. She was brave enough to endure all that, and then brave enough to tell him, to show him herself at her very worst. Just as he had showed her.

***

All of a sudden, Jamie lifted my left arm and pressed a soft tender kiss on the inside of my wrist, and my skin tingled pleasantly.

"Thank ye for sharing this wi' me, Sassenach," he muttered against my skin, a whisper of a smile on his face. 

"No, thank you," I smiled back at him.

We stayed like that for a while, sitting opposite eachother, our hands still entwined. It felt comfortable - natural even - to do that. Jamie and I sat there comfortable silence, just enjoying eachother's presence and our newfound common ground...

***

_Please make sure to review and vote for my story!_

_Thank you!_

_Maggie_

** TO BE CONTINUED... **


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